I won???t take the blame
January 4, 2011
“And the steps of this old church are peppered with confetti hearts
Like a million little love affairs waiting to fall apart”
Ah, Justin Currie, wordsmith to the cynics. This has always been one of my favorite Del Amitri lyrics, perhaps because I myself am cynical and largely uninterested when it comes to relationships. I can probably trace that back to interactions that happened during my formative years, between me, my parents, and my first two boyfriends in high school. And sorry, I’m going to leave you hanging on the details.
I was set on a course of believing that no boyfriend would measure up to other people’s expectations which were established early on. I didn’t realize this for a long time and spent many years having short relationships that went nowhere. I did have two engagements in my early twenties but broke those off. The first one never stood a chance, which fortunately I recognized. The second one might have lasted for a while, but by then I was completely flakey about relationships, unbeknownst to myself.
Over time, there were longer and longer spans between boyfriends. I said (and still say) that I wasn’t actively looking but that if something presented itself, I’d always be open to the possibility. I had a friend in my college dorm whose whole existence was wrapped up in having a boyfriend. If she didn’t, it was a panic situation. I was never like that. One of the byproducts of my parents raising an only child to be independent and self-sufficient is that I’m independent and self-sufficient. Of course sometimes I think it would be nice to have someone to cuddle with, but not that often. Not often enough to make being in a relationship overridingly important.
As the gaps between associations got longer and longer, I have gotten more and more used to being on my own, to the point where now I strongly prefer it. The level of excellence required to turn my head goes up, up, up. I’ve had a good experience in the last few years, but I’m more and more reluctant to relinquish my independence. I have a hard time thinking I’d want to have to take someone else into consideration all the time. Yes, I’m selfish. I want myself all to myself.
So when I hear Justin Currie’s lyrics about the perils of love, I smile wryly and nod my head. I know what you mean, sir.
“I Won’t Take the Blame” © Del Amitri
Yesterday you talked of love and now you want to leave
But don’t expect me to stand in your way
I am powerless to alter any action you might take And I won’t take the blame
I was not the one who played the joker in this game
I was not the one who feels nothing anymore
So if you walk out that door, I won’t take the blame And as I look at the girl I once adored
You tell me that I hold you back you tell me that you’re bored
So like a pair of clowns we stand around and fight
Why can’t you get it over with and walk out of my life? And I won’t take the blame
I was not the one who played the joker in this game
I was not the one who feels nothing anymore
So if you walk out that door, I won’t take the blame And the steps of this old church are peppered with confetti hearts
Like a million little love affairs waiting to fall apart
Get off my lawn
December 30, 2010
Somewhere along the line, I became a curmudgeon. I did and I didn’t. I’m pretty sure I don’t act my age, but at the same time I’m pretty crusty about a lot of stuff. I don’t exactly mean to be. Does that just come with getting older?
I almost climbed a tree tonight. If it hadn’t been winter with a foot and a half of snow hanging around I would have. Maybe. The kids across the street do, why shouldn’t I? When I was a kid, I spent a notable amount of time in trees. There was a woods at the end of our street, and as I recall, there was one old, large tree that we climbed. Sometimes I went with a friend or two, sometimes I went by myself with a book.
My parents visited for the Christmas weekend. I always find it challenging when people—yes, even my loving mother and father—invade my space. I’ve been concluding recently that I’m an actual introvert, especially after reading this article (via mstori). I used to say that deep down I was shy, though anyone who’s spent any amount of time around me knows that I can get chit-chatty with the best of them—if I’m in the right mood and/or have enjoyed my favorite libation.
Now I realize that the reason that I can talk to people quite comfortably—even complete strangers under the right circumstances—all hail the m-dash—is because I’m not actually shy. I just choose not to want to be around other people quite a lot of the time. (Sorry, friends, nothing personal. I know some of you understand.)
My choosing to want to be by myself, aka not deal with other people—even my loving mother and father—I’m sure is perceived by outsiders as being curmudgeonly. And perhaps so even by my mother. My dad’s the quiet one.
A few posts ago I wrote about three of my favorite movies, whose characters I could identify with. One of those was “Under the Tuscan Sun.” In the other context, I was admiring the main character, Frances, because she just up and stayed in a place where she was traveling for a random reason. I would like to do that. But that’s not where the similarities end, if I’m honest.
In this context, I must note that Frances is kind of uptight—sort of like me! Here again, I am and I’m not. In addition to the spontaneous geographical change she experiences, Frances receives several sage wisdoms from a woman who befriends her, Katherine. One by one, Frances embraces those wisdoms and her life gradually turns around.
One of the wisdoms Katherine expounds (not a particularly original one) is to never lose your childlike enthusiasm. For a number of reasons (this is not one of them), I always weep like a baby for much of this movie. Tonight I did not weep but I did get ever so slightly choked up when I was perusing a London map, when I realized how much I was enjoying this Lily Allen album, and when I was moved to tell my online friends how I feel about them—and I do!
And, for a third time tonight, I have and I haven’t. I am crustier than I used to be, it’s true. But these days I give myself permission not to fake it if I’m not really into it. Do you allow yourself to admit that you might not want to do what everyone else expects you should? Do you allow yourself to sit tight on that lack of desire to conform?
I do. I’m not trying to be superior. In fact, I feel rather inferior tonight. And I’m not pleased that I’m envious of my mom about something. Nobody wants to be like their parent, do they? And you really don’t want to admit that they seem younger than you—their offspring—in some ways.
My mom wouldn’t have climbed the tree tonight because she has two fake knees and one fake hip. I was just worried about what the neighbors would think, so I only stood below it. There’s a difference, not in my favor.
“Take What You Take” © Lily Allen
Inertia, part 3
September 16, 2010
Well, it’s been a little over ten months since I berated myself and bemoaned my apparent lack of motivation to accomplish my life’s big goal, moving to London, England. The Shubert Theater managed to get off its ass and begin restoration. Let’s take a look at how I’m doing.
As a result of making new friends in the Tweak Today community, some of whom live in London, I resolved during the winter that after I got my (U.S.) income tax refund in February or March, one of the things I’d do with the cash was book a trip across the pond.
Although I have previously lamented that in this down market, my mortgage traps me unless I want to take quite a hit in selling price, one positive is that the mortgage interest credit on my tax return provides for a sizable refund. Once a year, I clear up all my outstanding financial obligations (including paying my friend who floats me for Minnesota Twins baseball season tickets for the previous summer) and take my three pets in for checkups.
This year, I took care of myself first. I spent a lovely nine days in London the end of June beginning of July and hung out with my new friends. It was a good trip.They both live “in town” and I got a lot of time walking around on my own during the work day and going about the business of locals in the evenings. It gave me a good opportunity for a better-informed evaluation of how I might actually like living there. I was not dissuaded from my desires.
I figure it would still be at least a couple of years before I could make anything happen. The notion that I’ve had in my head since London won the 2012 Summer Olympics is that if I planned my arrival for soon thereafter, there might be ample more-reasonably priced living accommodations. On the other hand, if I somehow got myself there, you know, soon, maybe it would be easier for me to find a graphic design job or otherwise in the run-up.
It’s me. It will be later rather than sooner. And so far this entry is idle chat about my vacation, not a change in behavior.
What I have started doing is going through stuff around the house with an eye to downsizing before a cross-ocean move. Or because I simply have too much crap and I had houseguests. The casual observer would be hard-pressed to notice any difference, but I know the progress I made. A couple of my neighbors have much less stuff than I and have brought out the potential in their units. I want mine to be like that when I sell.
I did pass my 15-year anniversary at work and have no doubt that I’ll make it to 16 and beyond. Changing jobs wasn’t really the point of any of this, at least not until I’m looking for a job in London.
For a while I had been watching less television and doing more writing, reading, anything, but that bloom mostly faded. I still haven’t finished The Stuff of Thought, but I did manage to breeze through a romance novel in less than 24 hours this past weekend.
I don’t think there are obvious outward signs that my state of being is any different. About the best I can say is that I am quite certain that I’ll book another jaunt to London this winter when airfare is at its cheapest and I could accomplish the trip from a couple of paychecks rather than shooting my wad on high-season summer prices. I don’t need warm weather to have a good time.
On the indisputably positive side, a year and a half later I am still working out at Curves regularly. And, after the aforementioned ten months, still writing this blog.
The links, except the one about the Shubert, are all to previous blog entries which are related to one degree or another.
Starring as me
August 16, 2010
Who would you want to play yourself in a movie? I’m not asking who is your celebrity doppelgänger. I’m asking who would be able to channel the inner you on the big screen?
Figuring this out occupied my thoughts as I laid in bed last night waiting to fall asleep. I had initially thought that maybe Zooey Deschanel could be the one, because I love her quirkiness, but she’s also kind of wispy, and I’m not wispy. The second name that popped into my head was Janeane Garofalo. I thought that I should try to consider more possibilities but quickly realized that there was a reason why Ms. Garofalo came to mind.
I thought about what I know about her. If put under pressure to name movies she was in, all I’d be able to come up with without looking is The Truth about Cats and Dogs and that superhero one (by the way, that skull bowling ball that she used wasn’t just a prop). What I remember is that she does dorky and class clown, awkward and a little attractive, wallflower but underestimated.
I figured she’d be the one to be able to pull off portraying my type of personality in a believable way. I’m not a starlet, glamour girl type, and it was just a happy coincidence that there was a little more of a physical resemblance (beyond the dark hair) than I had realized.
Through the years there are celebrities I’ve been said to resemble. In my early twenties, it was Joan Jett and Martha Quinn. More recently, it was Mary McDonnell. I don’t really see it beyond hair color and/or style.
Back to doppelgängers. I learned of the website myheritage.com, where you can upload a photo of yourself and it will come up with celebrity look-alikes. I did it five times with different photos. I didn’t try to trick it for four of them, though when I kept getting a particular result, I did, as a last resort, give it the sunglasses photo just to test it. Naturally you have to take these things with a grain of salt. First, my matches were almost all men. I accept that. But second, some of the more outlandish matches it gave me included Prince Harry, Desmond Tutu, and Jessica Simpson. What?
I was relieved that it did return Janeane Garofalo one time (coincidentally, the same photo that I chose to use of her). And I was a little bit flattered that it gave me Gary Oldman twice, because I really like him. But who was the celebrity that it gave me all four times? James Spader. I’m not sure what to think about that!
Hopping mad (Lars vs. Rolf)
August 3, 2010
Today I was supposed to show a mad face. It wasn’t explicitly stated that it should be my own mad face, but I assumed the implication. My personal policy is to not get mad because it’s usually not worth it and it just wastes a lot of energy that could be put to better use, such as talking and trying to work it out.
So instead, I drew these two angry rabbits facing off. And actually, the stare-down didn’t begin until they were in Photoshop. I can only draw them facing to the left.
Who do you think will win? The three opinions that I know of (mine, @thedigitalghost’s, and @superc0w’s) pick Rolf (righty). Lars (lefty) looks more like he’s stubbornly standing his ground versus actually being angry. Rolf looks like he has issues. There is tension in his body language and you just know he will explode at any moment.
That’s why they each do different henchmen jobs for Tiny-bunny.
I’m not saying that I’m never upset by things. I am. I have my mother’s leave-no-thought-unspoken enthusiasm, but it’s tempered by my father’s don’t-worry-don’t-be-angry mellowness. If something doesn’t sit right with me, it will be known to the outside world. But I also have the ability to usually just let it go and not take it personally, at least not for long.
What do you really gain in the long run by being mad?
Appreciate your hot shower
May 3, 2010
It was brought to my attention a week ago just how for granted I take things like water, both potable and, as it applies here, hot.
I don???t ask for style from my person hygiene routine, only cleanliness. In February, I stopped combing and blow drying my hair after my daily shower because I discovered that as my hair gets ever longer, the absence of those two actions allows the natural curl to flourish. I did not stop taking the shower itself, though.
However, due to my own laziness and fiscal irresponsibility, I ignored paying my natural gas bill to the point where my service was cut off. Since it was the end of April (and now the first weekend in May), that wasn???t too much of a problem from the heat standpoint. But from the morning shower standpoint, it was nearly devastating.
The gas company doesn???t let you off easy. They freak you out. Their website says things like, ???Please allow two to five business days for your payment to be processed. After that, please allow five to ten business days for your service to be reconnected.???
It was on Thursday that I came home to find the disconnection noticed stuffed between my doors. It was too late to make a payment yet that day. I freaked out. I love my shower. I had plans to go out Friday night.
I have this Pavlovian routine with my hot water heater which is fueled by gas. At some time in the evening after about 8:00, I run the hot water for a minute or a few, until I hear the burner poof on. That way, I know I???ll have water as hot as I desire for my shower the following morning. When I don???t do that, the water is warm, but not satisfyingly hot hot.
So when I read the disconnection notice, I didn???t think about the dishes to do on the kitchen counter or the loads of laundry that I still haven???t done. No, my only thought was please let the water be lukewarm enough to be tolerable for a shower Friday morning.
It was. Barely. But enough. It was like when you were a kid and went to the swimming pool in August. The water had been sun-warmed all summer and it felt a little cool when you first jumped in, but after a few minutes you were used to it. Only difference was, I wasn???t out in the high summer sunshine.
I called the utility company to make payment arrangements and was thrilled to find out that the gas guy could come over Saturday morning to reconnect the gas and relight the pilot lights on my furnace and hot water heater. He said to give the water forty-five minutes to heat up.
I did, and it was my most enjoyable shower in some time.
April 27
Refrigerator magnet face
April 11, 2010
I was very excited about doing this because the weekend before I had stumbled upon some nifty rabbit magnets at Borders and planned to use them as the eyes of the face. Then time got in the way.
For the first part of the day I was bumming because I hadn???t looked ahead at the assignment so that I could do it the evening before, and as usual I didn???t get up early enough to leave myself any extra time in the morning to accomplish it. I resigned myself to waiting until I got home after work and perhaps even until after bowling to make my face.
Then as I was digging my lunch out of the office refrigerator I comprehended that not only were those magnets suitable for face-making, they were suitable for awesome face-making. And not only awesome face-making but entire clown-making.
It was a no-brainer to use the small magnets as the eyes and smile. Then I realized that the wood-spoon butterflies would be perfect as hair. Then the felt flowers let me know that they would be just right as buttons. I added the magnetic bottle opener as the bow tie flourish.
As often happens when I am setting up my photos at the office when, you know, I should be working, someone catches me in the act and then I feel self-conscious and dumb. Sometimes I explain. Sometimes I don???t. This time I could have, but I chose not to because I don???t particularly like the person to whom I would have been speaking.
After I got some positive online comments about my magnet face submission, I decided it would be the perfect spring avatar. This evening I adapted it to the one you see on this account. I would have been perfectly happy leaving it as the magnet face, but as I enjoy seeing the face of the person whose material I???m checking out, I modified it once more to provide the same courtesy to you.
Not very interesting but there it is.
March 31
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My theme song
April 8, 2010
Of course I have very many songs that I love. But a theme song? I never thought about it. I mean, it’s not like I’m a baseball player going up to bat.
So I thought about it. And I decided on “Don’t Stop Me Now” by Queen from their album “Jazz.” This is for two reasons.
First, I have loved Queen since about 1975. As much as I love Del Amitri, which is a whole lot, Queen is my desert island answer. I can’t explain it. Justin Currie is one of the most best songwriters ever and is a brilliant, brilliant lyricist, but Queen overwhelms Del Amitri in musicianship and innovation. Del Amitri is the most awesome bar band ever. Queen is just awesome.
Second, “Don’t Stop Me Now” comes closest to embodying my personal joie de vivre. Do those of you who know me think otherwise? There are lots of other songs that shiver me timbers more, but for general mood and loose interpretation of the lyrics, this one does just fine.
Don’t Stop Me Now
Ask a random person to draw for 10 seconds
March 2, 2010
I believe that quite a lot of people, though they profess otherwise, are secretly hams. I am a case in point. If you asked me whether I was shy, I would unhesitatingly answer with an emphatic YES! But anyone who has spent even the smallest amount of time around me would beg to differ. I inherited an odd combination of my mother’s effervescence and my father’s reserve. The bubbles often win.
But I digress.
The assignment was as stated in the title above. My first victim was our office mailman, Jim. Jim was our mailman when I started my job in March 1995. We are in our second office in the neighborhood and a couple of weeks ago, Jim started his third stint as our bearer of bills and junk mail. I know him pretty well. He is a bowler. I thrust my fluorescent green Post-It™ pad and brick red Sharpie® at him and said, “Draw for ten seconds, please!” Not surprisingly he asked, “Draw what?”
After clarifying that it could be anything, he put pen to paper for a good two and a half seconds. Not surprisingly, he drew a bowling ball. I also would have accepted an envelope or a stamp. I informed him that he still had seven and a half seconds left. “Would you like me to enhance it?” Please do. He added the brand name Hammer.
Back in college when I started bowling “for real” and throwing fingertip, my first urethane ball was a Pink Hammer. It was hard as a rock and is still my sentimental favorite, even though in technology terms, it would be like surfing the internet using a 256 baud modem.
But I digress.
I took my Post-It pad along to my bowling league in the evening, where I figured I could talk one or two other people into drawing for me. My first target was Brett. I know all of his team well, we were on neighboring lanes, and Brett and I were sharing space on the same table. It was inevitable.
At first, he blinked at me like a deer in headlights. Fortunately, I had to go take my next shot, so the performance pressure was lessened. When I came back, there was the upper right nice little drawing. I know Brett likes his tropical vacations so I was able to reassure him that it was was determinable as a palm tree and beach.
The team opposing Brett’s was the one of which the bowler Tom Kasper (of Tiny-bunny fame) is a member. I determined that Tom would be my next artist. That was when all hell broke loose and my ham hypothesis gained some traction.
Though it was to Tom to whom I next offered the Post-It pad and pen, he barely had time to make his nice little sketch of the target arrows on the bowling alley before the next and next and next people were clamoring for their chance to make a ten-second drawing.
Tom’s teammate Craig made a quite accurate caricature of their teammate Gary. From there, sometimes substitute bowler Randy confiscated the pad and pen and gave them to the youngster Jasmine, a five- or six-year-old who I assume was one of the bowlers’ daughter (must have been Craig’s? because I’m pretty familiar with everyone who was on that pair other than him, and nobody else has young children), who drew the second face of the evening. At least I assume it’s a face; otherwise, it’s a bowling ball with facial hair. After Jasmine, Randy made his own drawing, the hypnotizing swirl.
From there, I tapped my own teammate Ken, who was one of the brainstormers for the Tiny-bunny ideas. He produced the second tree of the evening along with what, at the time, made me think of telephone poles but which now I see more as silver dandelions in summer—a hopeful scene from the depths of a Minnesota winter.
Our final contestant was my friend Dick, Brett’s teammate (or vice versa, depending on how you look at it), who plaintively asked, “Can’t I draw, too?” Well, of course you can. His entry was this content-looking face. I see it as someone resting peacefully on a really comfy pillow.
I don’t think any of these people would say they can draw. Would you? I sure wouldn’t. I’m a graphic designer, and I get by because I can use a computer. When my hand is required to manipulate a drawing implement, I am stumped. But in the social situation, the lemmings raced each other to the cliff.
Prologue
Huh. Going in, I was thinking this would be one of my shorter entries but it turned out otherwise. Once again, interesting what happens when you do not choose the topic.
10 things that make me happy
March 1, 2010
This cup of grapefruit juice*
I like orange juice and tomato juice, but I love grapefruit juice!
This lovely sunny day*
It is the last day of February. On days like this, you believe that spring is truly right around the corner, even though it’s Minnesota and you know there could easily still be stretches of sub-freezing temperatures.
Watching my cat spaz out with the twirling rainbows on the wall*
I have solar powered twirling crystals in my south window. Poor Dasie just never figures it out.
Saving 10–15 minutes in the morning by neither combing nor drying my hair*
On February 13, I stopped both combing my hair and giving it the tiny bit of blow drying that I do, just to see what would happen. I am not in the early stages of dreadlocks and my curls twist up less frizzily and more curly. The only downside is that all day I shed the loose hairs that were formerly removed during combing. Having that ten or fifteen extra minutes is well worth it to me.
Classical music on a Sunday afternoon*
In my quest to watch less tv, I have returned to doing something I used to twenty years ago, which is turning on public radio in the morning and enjoying it as the backdrop to the whole day.
How it’s light so much earlier in the morning
I know the time change will soon come and darkness will get another hour of morning time, but for now I’ll enjoy that it’s light when I should be thinking about getting up. It has been light when I do get up all winter …
That my rabbit feels better after having his teeth trimmed a couple of weeks ago
The watery eye has cleared up and Robbin seems to be in a better mood. I can even pet his head, something which he had shied away from for years. Now I know why.
The thought of planning my trip to London
I really must make time to do my tax return so that I can get going on this.
Video chat
It has been very satisfying getting to see people who I would otherwise have no opportunity to interact with “in person.”
Coffee in a paper cup
I don’t know why it is, but I really love drinking coffee from a coffee shop paper cup.
*pictured above
Kelly’s Unnecessary Blog 